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enough； that I had found a girlfriend。 There was no way to explain the
truth to them； and no need to explain it； so I let them think what they
wanted to。 I had to face a barrage of stupid questions in the evening …
what position had we used？ What was she like down there？ What
colour underwear had she been wearing that day？ I gave them the
answers they wanted。
And so I went from 18 to 19。 Each day the sun would rise and set； the
flag would be raised and lowered。 Every Sunday I would have a date
with my dead friend's girl。 I had no idea what I was doing or what I
was going to do。 For my courses I would read Claudel and Racine and
Eisenstein； but they meant almost nothing to me。 I made no friends at
the lectures； and hardly knew anyone in the dorm。 The others in the
dorm thought I wanted to be a writer because I was always alone with
a book； but I had no such ambition。 There was nothing I wanted to be。
I tried to talk about this feeling with Naoko。 She； at least； would be
able to understand what I was feeling with some degree of precision； I
thought。 But I could never find the words to express myself。 Strange； I
seemed to have caught her word…searching sickness。
On Saturday nights I would sit by the phone in the lobby； waiting for
Naoko to call。 Most of the others were out； so the lobby was usually
deserted。 I would stare at the grains of light suspended in that silent
space； struggling to see into my own heart。 What did I want？ And
what did others want from me？ But I could never find the answers。
Sometimes I would reach out and try to grasp the grains of light； but
my fingers touched nothing。
I read a lot； but not a lot of different books： I like to read my
favourites again and again。 Back then it was Truman Capote； John
Updike； F。 Scott Fitzgerald； Raymond Chandler； but I didn't see
anyone else in my lectures or the dorm reading writers like that。 They
liked Kazumi Takahashi； Kenzaburo Oe； Yukio Mishima； or
contemporary French novelists； which was another reason I didn't
have much to say to anybody but kept to myself and my books。 With
my eyes closed； I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance
deep inside me。 This was enough to make me happy。
At 18 my favourite book was John Updike's The Centaur； but after I
had read it a number of times； it began to lose some of its initial lustre
and yielded first place to The Great Gatsby。 Gatsby stayed in first
place for a long time after that。 I would pull it off the shelf when the
mood hit me and read a section at random。 It never once disappointed
me。 There wasn't a boring page in the whole book。 I wanted to tell
people what a wonderful novel it was； but no one around me had read
The Great Gatsby or was likely to。 Urging others to read F Scott
Fitzgerald； although not a reactionary act； was not something one
could do in 1968。
When I did finally meet the one person in my world who had read
Gatsby； he and I became friends because of it。 His name was
Nagasawa。 He was two years older than me； and because he was doing
legal studies at the prestigious Tokyo University； he was on the fast
track to national leadership。 We lived in the same dorm and knew
each other only by sight； until one day when I was reading Gatsby in a
sunny spot in the dining hall。 He sat down next to me and asked what I
was reading。 When I told him； he asked if I was enjoying it。 〃This is
my third time；〃 I said； 〃and every time I find something new that I like
even more than the last。〃
〃This man says he has read The Great Gatsby three times；〃 he said as
if to himself。 〃Well； any friend of Gatsby is a friend of mine。〃
And so we became friends。 This happened in October。
The better I got to know Nagasawa； the stranger he seemed。 I had met
a lot of weird people in my day； but none as strange as Nagasawa。 He
was a far more voracious reader than me； but he made it a rule never
to touch a book by any author who had not been dead at least 30 years。
〃That's the only kind of book I can trust；〃 he said。
〃It's not that I don't believe in contemporary literature；〃 he added； 〃but
I don't want to waste valuable time reading any book that has not had
the baptism of time。 Life is too short。〃
〃What kind of authors do you like？〃 I asked； speaking in respectful
tones to this man two years my senior。
〃Balzac； Dante； Joseph Conrad； Dickens；〃 he answered without
hesitation。
〃Not exactly fashionable。〃
〃That's why I read them。 If you only read the books that everyone else
is reading； you can only think what everyone else is thinking。 That's
the world of hicks and slobs。 Real people would be ashamed of
themselves doing that。 Haven't you noticed； Watanabe？ You and I are
the only real ones in this dorm。 The other guys are crap。〃
This took me off guard。 〃How can you say that？〃
〃'Cause it's true。 I know。 I can see it。 It's like we have marks on our
foreheads。 And besides； we've both read The Great Gatsby。〃
I did some quick calculating。 〃But Fitzgerald's only been dead 28
years；〃 I said。
〃So what？ Two years？ Fitzgerald's advanced。〃
No one else in the dorm knew that Nagasawa was a secret reader of
classic novels； nor would it have mattered if they had。 Nagasawa was
known for being smart。 He breezed into Tokyo University； he got
good marks； he would take the Civil Service Exam； join the Foreign
Ministry； and bee a diplomat。 He came from a wealthy family。 His
father owned a big hospital in Nagoya； and his brother had also
graduated from Tokyo； gone on to medical school； and would one day
inherit the hospital。 Nagasawa always had plenty of money in his
pocket； and he carried himself with real dignity。 People treated him
with respect； even the dorm Head。 When he asked someone to do
something； the person would do it without protest。 There was no
choice in the matter。
Nagasawa had a certain inborn quality that drew people to him and
made them follow him。 He knew how to stand at the head of the pack；
to assess the situation； to give precise and tactful instructions that
others would obey。 Above his head hung an aura that revealed his
powers like an angel's halo； the mere sight of which would inspire awe
in people for this superior being。 Which is why it shocked everyone
that Nagasawa chose me； a person with no distinctive qualities； to be
his special friend。 People I hardly knew treated me with a certain
respect because of it； but what they did not seem to realize was that
the reason for my having been chosen was a simple one； namely that I
treated Nagasawa with none of the adulation he received from other
people。 I had a definite interest in the strange； plex aspects of his
nature； but none of those other things … his good marks； his aura； his
looks … impressed me。 This must have been something new for him。
There were sides to Nagasawa's personality that conflicted in the
extreme。 Even I would be moved by his kindness at times； but he
could just as well be malicious and cruel。 He was both a spirit of
amazing loftiness and an irredeemable man of the gutter。 He could
charge forward； the optimistic leader； even as his heart writhed in